


ready to call this love

by officialvampyr



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sylvix Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 15:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21077195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialvampyr/pseuds/officialvampyr
Summary: From the moment they met, Felix knew that Sylvain was going to be his.--Sylvix Week 2019: Arranged Marriage





	ready to call this love

From the moment they met, Felix knew that Sylvain was going to be his.

At the time, it was for reasons beyond his understanding. After all, what does a six-year-old know of political ties and societal expectations? He didn’t need to know—or frankly care to know—that this was only a maneuver orchestrated by their fathers to unite their territories. Instead, all he cared about was the idea that he was going to spend the rest of his life with Sylvain, and he still did not fully understand what this meant.

Sylvain was a chubby little boy, with rusty hair and freckles dotting his cheeks. He also had a bandage across his left cheek and dirt on his elbows. He looked like his father had to wrestle him to get here, the boy too preoccupied with playing to care about such an important event. Clearly, Sylvain did not realize what this meeting meant, either. He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, a huge grin on his face. Even at age six, Sylvain’s smile could blot out the sun. Felix remembered being intimidated by that grin, clutching his father’s pantleg, trying to hide behind him. His father’s voice was soft, encouraging. _Go say hello_, he said. Sylvain seemed to be waiting for him, even extended one of his pudgy hands. “Hi, I’m Sylvain,” he announced.

Felix reluctantly reached for him with one hand, his other still securely clutching his father. He was curious, of course. His eyes were molten copper in the summer light, and he was transfixed by his gaze. “Felix,” he replied, indicating to himself.

Sylvain took his hand and pulled him towards him, into a hug. While not the mostly overly affectionate child to begin with, Felix definitely did not appreciate being smothered by a stranger. He writhed against the hug for a moment, stilled only when Sylvain squeezed him tight. He could feel the breath leaving his lungs. “You’re my Felix,” he said, which caused him to stop fighting it completely.

And from that moment on, he was.

They became fast friends after that, but it was mostly due to Sylvain. He was skeptical, of course, of Sylvain’s intentions. He was too smiley, too bright, and he gave Felix too much attention. For the first time in his life, he did not feel like he was in someone’s shadow; he was not in Dimitri’s, he was not in Glenn’s. He had no one to hide behind, which was both horrifying and _gratifying_. For once, he was the center of someone’s universe, and Sylvain was _obsessed _with him. There was something so earnest about him that Felix appreciated, maybe even loved. He wore his heart on his sleeve.

Around court, he was always holding Felix’s hand, dragging him around. They would spar together, violently and uncoordinatedly hitting each other with wooden training equipment; sometimes, Felix would slam his sword too hard against Sylvain’s fingers, and he would break into terrible sobs that were only cured when Felix kissed them. Around their friends, they would play knights and maidens, and Sylvain would proudly offer to be the maiden, if only to get saved by Felix, swept off his feet and whisked away after Dimitri, Ingrid and himself slayed the dragon (which was Glenn, of course). During lessons, Sylvain would sit beside him, despite the fact that he was a terrible student; he was always doodling in the corner, usually stick figure knights and terribly disfigured horses, but sometimes… Sometimes Felix would catch his name, see doodles of hearts.

As they grew older, Felix learned that summer was not eternal, and the sunlight that Sylvain brought began to waver. When they became teenagers, Sylvain began to notice girls, and suddenly everything was about _softness_. He talked about how soft their skin was, their hair, their shape, their eyes. While he never said so, Felix couldn’t help but take it as a jab at everything he was not; he was hard lines and sharp edges, pointy elbows and knobby knees. If girls were rolling hills, he was a jagged cliffside. It became hard to stomach—he knew there was no way he could ever compete with them. Horribly, the girls began to notice Sylvain, too. He was getting taller, his shoulders getting broader. There were dimples in his cheeks. The girls were not the only ones to notice Sylvain, and it only made Felix feel more hopeless. Now _he _was the one doodling hearts in his notes, not paying attention in class; he was distracted by the charming boy beside him, who always pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and forgot to button the top of his shirt.

“Sylvain, do you like me?” Felix asked. Sometimes, when Felix looked at him, he felt like his heart was going to explode. Now, he refused to look at him. They were sitting on a hill near his home, watching the sun go down.

Sylvain was laying in the grass, looking at the leaves rustling overhead. “You’re my best friend,” he promised, breezily, as if he were explaining how gravity worked.

It was a fact, but that wasn’t good enough for Felix. Dimitri called him _his _best friend, too. His feelings for Sylvain were not the same as his feelings for Dimitri, even if he still didn’t have the words for them yet. He frowned.

After a moment, he felt Sylvain’s hand on his. “You’re my Felix,” he added, squeezing his hand.

Neither of them let go for a long while.

When Glenn died, many things began to change at once. His world turned upside down in an instant, and it was difficult to tell which way was up and which way was down. Dimitri lost his family. He lost Glenn. And then… he lost Sylvain. _It’s your duty now, Felix, to carry on your bloodline._ Margrave Gautier seemed all too happy about the arrangement, too; now he had a son to market, free to abandon the long-standing promise they’d made to each other. Suddenly, he was crushed by responsibilities he had never dreamed of having. He felt heavy and he felt numb. He had never experienced loss like this.

After they received the news, Sylvain hugged him tight, but he did not cry the way Felix did. It was as if every wound in his chest was opening at once, every stitch ripping from his already battered heart. Sylvain kissed his head, played with his hair, and held him until the tears stopped. “I can’t lose you, too,” Felix said, his voice raw. There was determination there, and he gripped Sylvain’s arms tight enough to leave bruises.

“You won’t,” Sylvain promised. “You’re my Felix.”

And he was.

But it didn’t feel that way.

They saw each other less after the Tragedy of Duscur, after Glenn, after the termination of the arranged marriage. Felix focused on his studies, overwhelmed with the ghosts he was supposed to fill the hole of. His father found him a new marriage candidate—some girl from the south that, no matter how many times his father told him the name of, he could not remember for the life of him. His thoughts were always on Sylvain, of the future they had fantasized over together. Mostly childish dreams, of course, the kinds of things teenage boys think are worthwhile and fulfilling; such as an abundance of horses, cake for breakfast, staying up all night because they could not risk a moment spent apart. Sylvain had a tendency of writing their dreams on scraps of paper and placing them in a jar. _When we’re older… When we’re living together… _The jar was still in his room, somewhere. He moved it from his desk, heart aching from the sight of it but unable to let go of it.

When he got accepted into the Officer’s Academy, he decided to bring the jar with him; one of the few home mementos he takes along. Sylvain was there, because of course he was. The goddess loved to torture him, he supposed, but part of him was relieved to see him. This had been one of their dreams, going to school there together. He was much taller now than the last time Felix saw him, his cheeks even more freckly and his hair an utter mess of red tresses. Felix remembered how soft they were, wished he could run his fingers through them like he used to. “I didn’t know they were letting anyone in here these days,” Felix remarked snidely.

Sylvain beamed at him in a way that made him suspect he’d get a sunburn. _Luminous, bright, hot._ “Felix,” he greeted, as if relieved to see him there. His gaze trailed over Felix, and he felt hotter than before. He looked down, crossed his arms in front of his chest. Sylvain was undeterred by his discomfort. “You look great.”

“Yeah, well—” Whatever rude comment he was going to make was cut off when a bouncy blonde appeared.

“_Sylvain!” _she squealed, latching hard onto his arm. Sylvain laughed and didn’t even flinch, but Felix sure did. Both of the boys’ attention moved to the girl, who pressed _every inch _of herself against the ginger. Felix instantly hated her.

He introduced her as his girlfriend, whom Felix immediately forgot the name of. He looked away, feeling a sour resentment in his chest.

The girl left. Felix was sure she was ushered away with a _I’ll catch up with you later _from Sylvain. Alone once more, they locked eyes. Sylvain offered him a friendly smile and an extended hand. Felix stared down at it. “Hey, you’re still my Felix, right?”

His tone had changed. It was no longer laced with childish affection, and it felt… tainted, somehow. The way he said it was more _comrade_ than partner. It only made the pit in Felix’s stomach grow larger. Sylvain seemed so blissfully oblivious to it all, too. Felix turned on his heel so he wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. _How can I be yours if you’re not mine? _he wondered. “We’re not those children anymore, Sylvain,” he replied, much colder than he wished he had sounded. “Isn’t it time to grow up?” He did not wait for a response. He walked away from Sylvain, crushing whatever feelings that had lingered over the years under the heel of his boot.

Or at least, that’s what he had imagined.

Getting over someone was never quite so simple, was it?

The girlfriend was not around for long. None of them were. It was a constant carousel of women, none of whom could hold Sylvain’s attention. Felix was the unwilling ear that he vented to, having to listen to his constant whines and complaints.

One day, Felix found he had enough. He slammed his book on sword techniques closed violently and abruptly, his chair scraping against the wood floors. Sylvain jolted in response. He had been lounging in his chair, playing with a pencil, twirling it around his fingers. His feet were resting on the desk, but now they landed hard on the ground from the surprise of Felix’s movement. His eyes were wide. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you?” Felix spat, and he felt venom on his tongue. “Why do you take everything for granted? People aren’t your _playthings_, Sylvain. It’s not _wrong _of them to have emotions and feelings, especially for you, and you can’t fucking complain about getting the _option _to choose who you marry.”

Sylvain gaped at him. “I didn’t know—”

DIdn’t know what? That he felt that way? Didn’t know that he’d already been promised to someone else? He didn’t think he cared to hear the end of the sentence. “Just _shut up_.”

“Felix—”

He was done listening to him. He grabbed his book and his satchel and stalked out of the library.

Every complaint Sylvain raised about the girls who were obsessed with him felt like a knife to the gut. It wasn’t just the jealousy over the fact that they were the center of his attention, but it was the implication that they were idiots for falling for him. Sylvain marketed himself as unlovable, as someone who was only there for a good time, as someone who was unable to give emotional depth. The way in which he talked about it, it almost felt like he was _bragging_. What was he waiting for? For someone to change him? And then his words hurt for other reasons, too. If those girls were fools for feeling a certain way for him, what did that mean for Felix?

The missions they go on grow intense. Every month, a new opponent to face, each one stronger than the rest. Felix spent most of his time in the training grounds, working on his form, working every moment for self-improvement. But it’s not enough.

_Is anything he does ever enough?_

Time moved in slow motion. There was a sword coming down on him. He raised his weapon defensively, catching the blade. His arm quivered under the brute strength of his opponent, teeth grit and body tense. It took every ounce of strength to block that blow—which meant he had none left to spare when a fist rammed into his ribcage. His breath left his lungs and he reeled backwards, sword falling from his hands. The enemy’s sword followed suit, hacking diagonally across his chest. There was searing, white-hot pain blossoming through his entire torso. His attacker posed to strike again, and Felix could only watch him prepare for the final blow while he lay prone on the ground—before a lance pierced his chest. He recognized that weapon, through the haze of his pain, through the blood loss and the weariness. The weapon shivered as if it were alive. _The Lance of Ruin_. _Sylvain_.

The enemy crumpled, and suddenly he was being gathered into Sylvain’s arms. His vision blurred, eyelashes fluttering. “_Stay with me,” _he said. “_You can’t die on me, not here.”_ He was slipping in and out of consciousness. “_You’re my Felix. I can’t lose you.”_

He wasn’t sure how much time passed from when he lost total consciousness and when he awoke in the infirmary. It was early morning, judging by the way the room was full of soft golden rays. They played off the fire of Sylvain’s hair, which was a greasy mess atop his head. He was lounging in a chair nearby, unshowered and disheveled. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he had been there the whole time. Felix shifted in the bed, trying to sit himself upright. He grunted when his chest flared with pain, which immediately jolted Sylvain from his slumber. “Felix?” he asked, blearily. He felt his stomach twist. Sylvain adjusted himself to be sitting properly, moved his chair closer. Any ounce of sleep was wiped from his features.

For that moment, Felix was the center of his universe again. For that moment, he felt the sun again.

Felix reached for his hand, and Sylvain was quick to take it. “How are you feeling?”

He exhaled through his nose, closed his eyes for a moment. Even breathing felt agonizing. He moved again, despite the disgruntled sound Sylvain made. He shifted to the left, grinding his teeth, and pulled Sylvain’s hand. He wanted him closer. Sylvain looked skeptical, of course, as if he were capable of breaking him, but finally he relented. The ginger joined him on the bed. Felix rested his head against his chest, closed his eyes again. His breath was stale and there was a certain scent coming off of him, but he was warm, and much comfier than any of the pillows he was surrounded by. “I thought I lost you.”

Silence enveloped them. Sylvain’s breathing steadied. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting an answer, but Felix gave him one anyway, on the verge of sleep. “You won’t,” he promised. “I’m your Felix.”

They were arguing again, this time in an empty Knight’s Hall. The grounds were empty, since all the knights were away on a mission. The whole monastery was like a wasteland. Felix had decided to use the grounds to train, since it was quieter and he was less likely to be cornered by the professor or… Sylvain. So he thought. The ginger seemed to have a sixth sense for him, because he homed in on Felix like a fucking hawk.

“It’s too soon for you to be training this hard,” Sylvain reprimanded, standing in the way of Felix and the dummy. He was a fool if he didn’t think he’d turn Sylvain into his dummy instead.

“Step aside, or I’ll cut you down.” He raised his sword. He would never admit that he knew Sylvain was right; he could feel the stitches pulling at the wound on his chest, and his arm still wasn’t completely healed. But this was just training; Byleth had put him out of commission until full recovery, yet he couldn’t let himself get sloppy. “What gives you the right to tell me what to do?”

Sylvain held firm, although his brows furrowed. “I’m your—”

That prickled something in him, and he snapped. “You’re my _what, _Sylvain? You are _nothing_ to—”

It was a good thing that Sylvain cut him off before he could finish that sentence, because even as the words were leaving his lips, he knew he was going to regret it. He was moving, suddenly, catching Felix off guard. Strong, calloused hands found their way to his jaw, holding him in place. He dropped his sword as Sylvain took another step forward, closed the few inches between them and kissed him. Hard and violent.

Their teeth clattered when their mouths met, sending a jolt through Felix. His sword clattered as someone stepped on it, but he couldn’t find it in him to care about it. His hands fisted in the front of Sylvain’s jacket, preventing him from pulling away—not that the other noble had any such idea. He pushed Felix backwards, and they nearly tripped over the steps as they made their way out of the sparring ring. Sylvain held him firm, though, and pressed him against the nearest wall. The force of it rattled his bones, and he gasped, which gave the redhead the perfect opportunity to shove his tongue into Felix’s mouth. He whimpered.

The heat of the kiss simmered. Felix’s breath was tight in his chest as Sylvain’s lips trailed along his jaw, insistent and possessive. There was a leg between his, and it was taking everything in his power to stop himself from jerking against it. “We made a promise to each other,” Sylvain murmured, his voice molten in his ear. Felix felt himself shiver, angling his neck just so to give him better access. His lips met the soft spot under his ear.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Felix drawled, and he clutched Sylvain’s bicep with all his strength, afraid that he was going to collapse if he didn’t hold onto him. “We made a lot of promises.” _He had a jar of them stashed in his room. Promises and dreams._

Sylvain’s teeth grazed his neck, and he jolted. “You’re mine, Felix,” he said.

_Fuck_. How many years had he wanted him to say that? How many years had he dreamed about _kissing _him like that? _Being _kissed like that? Yet he found himself stopping, pushing on Sylvain’s shoulder, just so. “And what are you, Sylvain?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“I have always been yours,” he murmured, voice growing quieter still, “but are _you_ mine?”

He knew he could never love someone the way he loved Sylvain. Their bond was something special, born from childhood. Felix remembered the way they used to share a bed in their youth, curled against each other after a long day of play. Sylvain’s arm was such a comfort around his torso, his heartbeat reverberating through Felix’s back. In those days, yes, Sylvain _was _his. He did not belong to his father, who fretted over crests, and he did not belong to his brother, who hurt him. He belonged to Felix and no one else. They were supposed to get married. They were supposed to grow old together in the Fraldarius Castle.

Sylvain had the gall to laugh at him. “I didn’t think you wanted me.”

A shaky hand rose to Sylvain’s hair, pushing the strands away from his face. “It was always supposed to be you, Sylvain.”

“And here I thought you were vehemently against arranged marriages.”

“They’re an antiquated means of selling your children to the highest bidder,” he replied, as if they’d argued over this before, “but sometimes…” He thought of Glenn and Ingrid, how they had been in love. Then, he thought _If Glenn hadn’t died, Sylvain and I would still be betrothed_.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied, pressing his forehead against Felix’s. “So, you up for abandoning tradition and eloping?”

“Is it considered abandoning tradition if we were already promised to each other?”

“It sounds more dramatic.”

Felix kissed him again, tried not to think of the woman he was currently betrothed to. Yes, he would shun tradition in a heartbeat to spend the rest of his life with Sylvain. “You didn’t answer my question,” he hummed, nipping at Sylvain’s lip.

“I’m yours, Fe. I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank youuu for reading ily, yes you, personally you, i love you so much-- ♡♡♡
> 
> scream @ me:  
twitter: @mitochondribae  
tumblr: @officialvampyr


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